Chapter Thirteen #3
Lady Hamilton pressed on regardless. “I cannot imagine how you are not senseless with fright—quite undone by it all.”
“My fear was greatest when I was first taken,” Elena said, truthfully and without ornament. “Over the days that followed, it lessened.”
“And why is that?” Lady Hamilton prompted.
“I knew I was safe with Jacob Jamison.”
A faint hmm was the only reply to that. The questions continued all the same—persistent, probing—though Elena could not have said what, precisely, the woman hoped to extract.
A quarter hour into the interrogation, Isabel had had enough, and rose to her feet.
“Lady Hamilton, I believe that is enough recounting for one day,” she said gently but firmly. “My daughter appears to be wilting. She needs rest.”
Lady Hamilton sighed, though she did not argue. “Of course. Of course. Another time, perhaps.”
Meggie played along, helping Elena to her feet, rolling her eyes once her back was turned to Lady Hamilton.
Elena murmured her thanks, inclined her head politely, and allowed herself to be ushered from the solar between her mother and Meggie. The door closed behind them with a soft, final click.
For a few steps, none of them spoke.
Then Elena said quietly, “What was that about?”
Meggie snorted under her breath. “She wanted a story she could repeat.”
“A neat one,” Isabel added, her tone dry. “With heroes placed properly, and nae inconvenient truths to trip over.”
Elena frowned. “Why?”
Meggie glanced at her. “Because people like Lady Hamilton prefer events tidied up—fear made interesting, danger made distant, and no doubt, her son not painted as the coward.”
“A tale,” Isabel said, touching Elena’s arm, “a tale told often enough becomes the established truth. She wants to decide what that will be.”
Elena let out a slow breath. “I dinna give her much.”
“No,” Meggie said with satisfaction. “You did not.”
“And that,” Isabel added, “leaves little room for misinterpretation. Well done, my love.”
They turned the corner together, leaving the solar—and Lady Hamilton’s curiosity—firmly behind them.
That evening, Elena took her supper quietly in her parents’ chamber, with only her mother and Meggie Jamison for company. She had only to ask to be excused from supper in the hall, crying fatigue, and her mother had readily acquiesced.
They spoke of small and ordinary things, as though they were gathered at Wolvesly or Blackwood and nothing untoward had ever occurred.
Meggie remarked upon the condition of the southern wool blankets laid out for the guests, noting that they were finer than anything produced at Blackwood, but that they would never hold up to a Highland winter.
They talked of the mild winter that had passed, and how much salted beef they’d managed to put up, and an occasion where the last oats at Blackwood had been mildewed by damp.
Isabel revealed how difficult it had been, of late, to keep linen from yellowing when dried indoors.
Meggie mentioned a rash of sick lambs at home and wondered aloud whether it was the grass or the water that was to blame.
Isabel countered that she had seen the same thing two springs past and suspected the weather had more to do with it than any failing of husbandry.
Between them, they debated remedies—charcoal mixed with mash, a tea of bitter herbs, the old trick of driving the flock to higher ground for a fortnight and seeing who rallied.
Elena listened more than she spoke, her plate resting half-forgotten before her.
The cadence of their voices, the easy way they filled the silence without effort, settled something inside her that had been taut all day.
This was how it had always been when the Jamisons and MacTavishes gathered, they being outnumbered by males, and often keeping company while the men talked of land and loyalty and politics elsewhere.
This had also been how Elena had absorbed a quieter education, one made of care, trial and error, and the management of lives that depended upon theirs.
Only once did Elena’s abduction, and Jacob’s role in her return, surface in their conversation. Later, Elena would not recall what had prompted it, only that her mother had spoken with a calm that surprised her.
“My fear was only half so great as it might have been,” Isabel said simply. “I kent Jacob had gone after ye. And that changed everything.”
Isabel and Meggie exchanged a look—brief, almost imperceptible to anyone else. Smiles followed, small and knowing, shared as if there was some understanding between them.
Eventually, though, the fire burned low and Meggie rose at last, pressing a kiss to Elena’s hair and one to Isabel’s cheek before saying goodnight. Isabel saw Elena through the connecting door into her chamber, advising her to get some rest.
Time stretched. The castle did not sleep as quietly as Wolvesly did. Doors opened and closed at odd hours; boots crossed the corridors; voices carried up from belowstairs.
It was well past the hour when most candles would have been extinguished when a knock finally came at Elena’s door. She froze, wondering if Thomas would dare to knock at her door at this time of night, but then she heard her father’s gravelly voice. “Elena.”
“Aye,” she called out, sitting up, putting her feet to the floor.
Liam entered a moment later, the weariness of the day evident in the set of his shoulders. Dust still clung to his boots, and the chill of the night seemed to follow him into the room.
Before he’d closed the door, Elena had crossed to him. “Did ye find them?”
He turned and nodded. “Aye.”
“And...?”
“?Tis finished,” he said, rolling his shoulder. “They will trouble nae one again.”
Elena knew better than to ask for particulars of what that meant. But she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “And Jacob?” She bit her lip, waiting.
“A few bruises, one more bit of sliced skin, nae anything to be concerned about.” He gave a small, wry huff. “He’d be offended if I suggested otherwise.”
Elena grinned, knowing exactly how true that was.
“But love, there’s another matter,” her father said, shifting his weight. “Yer mam told me what ye said about Hamilton, and what happened in the orchard.”
Elena met his gaze and nodded. “He dinna move, Da. Dinna draw his sword. Never even touched the hilt.”
Liam’s mouth tightened, though his voice stayed even. “Aye. And I kent he later told a different tale—I heard it myself. Had no cause to challenge it at the time, though it rang false.”
“He lied,” she said simply.
“He did,” Liam agreed. “And that troubles me more than his fear.”
At her frown, he went on. “Fear is common enough. Men pretend otherwise, but some act despite it, and some dinna. Ye’ve seen both.
” His look told her he meant the difference between Jacob and Thomas.
“But a false tale speaks to a lack of integrity,” he continued.
“And that weighs heavier. I’ll be plain with ye—I was impressed with Thomas when he came to Wolvesly last year. And I ken ye were, too.”
“And now?” she asked.
“Now, I’m far less so. As are ye, I suspect.”
“But I have to wed him.”
“Ye have to do naught,” he corrected gently. “Yer mam and I said from the beginning—the choice is yours. Aye, the alliance is useful. It strengthens ties. But it isnaecrucial. We would stand without it.”
“But we agreed—”
“In word only,” he said. “Nae hands shaken. Nae contracts signed. Aye, there would be some difficulty, changing minds does that, but it’s nae impossible.”
Her heart stumbled at the possibility, hope surfacing. “But what do ye want me to do?”
He touched her cheek. “I would have ye consider what ye can live with. Thomas would never harm ye—of that I’m certain.
He’s more puppy than hunting hound, fond of comfort, eager to please.
That counts for something. But courage,” he added, meeting her eyes steadily, “is harder to live without than many people ken. And I will nae force my daughter into a marriage that leaves her diminished. I would sooner see the matter ended than see ye bound to a man ye canna respect.”
Elena nodded slowly, considering all of this.
“At the end of it,” Liam said, “the choice is yours. Ye’re nae a child, Elena. I’ll advise when asked. I’ll protect where I can. But I willna decide this for ye.”
She looked down at her hands, turning his words over with care. Duty rose to meet her thoughts as it always had. She had been raised among men who bore responsibility without complaint—her father most of all.
“I want ye to be proud of me,” she said at last.
Liam’s expression softened. “I am always proud of ye, lass.”
“But I want to do my part,” she went on. “I ken what’s expected. I ken the weight of it.” She hesitated, then lifted her chin. “That doesna make the choice an easy one.”
“No,” he said quietly. “It doesna.”
Elena swallowed and curled her fingers into her palms, then dared to ask, “I canna imagine there’d be any... benefit in tying our family to the Jamisons?” she said carefully.
Liam’s expression and stance tensed. The mildness vanished, replaced by something sharper—alert, assessing. He studied her closely.
“Is there some reason,” he asked carefully, “why ye believe there ought to be?”
For a moment, she did not understand—and then she did, and heat rushed up her neck.
“Nae—nae,” she said at once, eager to head off whatever conclusion he was drawing.
But as the meaning settled, and with it the knowledge that if there had been any dishonor between her and Jacob they would be having a very different conversation indeed, her shoulders sagged.
With far greater disappointment than before, she added, “Nae. There is nae reason.”
She didn’t see it, but her father was barely able to contain his answering grin in that moment. When she glanced up at him eventually, he shuttered his expression.
“To answer yer question—there is nae advantage to be gained. Nae land secured, nae power strengthened. Only that two families already close would remain so.”
Dejected by the answer, though she’d known in advance what it would be, she nodded again.
“Take your time,” Liam said at last. “Think clearly. Choose with open eyes.”
“I will.”
Liam bent and kissed her cheek and left her to stew with her wild thoughts.